Too Close
by Because Loki
Summary: May end up being a collection of Johnlock or Sheriarty songfics if I decide to continue these. Nothing too bad yet, T just to be safe. Rating may change.
1. Some dickwads have tried to shut me down

**"Crave You"**

**Flight Facilities (Adventure Club Remix)**

* * *

Sherlock Holmes. Tall, dark, lean, mysterious. These are the words to describe my flatmate, among others I only hiss under my breath during particularly difficult cases. Wanker, arsehole, and cunt are some my favorites. We were wandering around Soho, well, I was wandering and Sherlock was gliding with purpose and would have been elegant, had he not one foot on the curb and the other in the street.

He smiled serenely up at the sky, searching for the stars that were only slightly visible. His gaze wandered back down to street level, and he discreetly adjusted his worn out jacket, and shifted the waistband of his dark jeans on his slight hips. I asked him for the fifth time that night where we were going, and why couldn't I wear my jumper, it's _cold, _Sherlock.

"Patience, my dear Doctor Watson. You'll see soon enough." I huffed at him, my breath showing in front of me in the crisp night air. He made me come out with him tonight, dragged me away from a date with Sarah. I had gotten dressed up in not a _nice_ suit, per say, but the best that I could rent given that Sherlock had taken on a case and refused pay and I wasn't there to stop him. For the third time this month. I honestly have no idea how the man manages to pay Mrs. Hudson for his share on the flat. Probably because she loves him like her own son. Anyway, he had tossed me a very erm, _well-worn_ shirt with unidentifiable stains and a stale air of fags and mud about it, and some old jeans that looked like he plucked them straight from some poor sod in an alleyway much like the one he was turning into now. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I somehow managed to miss the faint vibrating, pounding bass that strikes you all the way to your heart coming from the little alley. Sherlock grabbed me by the shoulder and dragged me in behind him.

As we got closer, I realized that it wasn't an empty alley, but a smaller, more set back building than the two on either side of it. It had a small collection of graffiti on its door, and quite a lot more on the surrounding walls and the ones of the building itself. In the small tinted window there was a pathetic flashing neon that said 'OPEN' in flashing red letters in a blue rectangle.

"Follow my lead, John," Sherlock murmured into my ear as he knocked thrice on the door. A small panel slid open and two angry eyes peered out through it. "Alright, mate? Just lookin' fer Davies is all." The eyes on the other side of the panel narrowed in suspicion, then the panel slammed shut and the whole door opened.

The smells of smoke, sweat, alcohol, and heated metal all assaulted my nose at once when I walked in the little flashing blue lights almost gave me a headache and I could barely follow Sherlock's coattails as we, he, wound his way through the writhing masses in a cleared area where there were no chairs or tables for the patrons to fall over. I glanced over my shoulder to where the sounds of the music were louder, and saw a long raised platform with three poles reaching to the ceiling. A woman was dancing around one, her body moving fluidly to the music. A woman's voice sounding a bit foreign though, I couldn't place the accent, sang and I realized that the bass I had felt outside more than heard was because of this song.

_Why can't you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I stare at you. It's true, I crave you... It's true, I crave you._

I turned my head away from the dancing woman and searched the crowd for the curly hair of Sherlock, and found him backing a shady looking man into a corner. I narrowed my eyes and pushed through the masses and made my way over to Sherlock. He was so absorbed with hissing at the man, Davies I assumed, that he didn't notice me creep up behind them. Davies' eyes flicked over to me for a split second, and Sherlock turned from the man he was towering over. He flashed me a quick smile, and his eyes darted to the bar and back to mine. I got the hint and rolled my eyes at having to manage my way back through the crowd. I eventually made my way over to the bar and ordered a whiskey for Sherlock and an ale for myself.

The music slowed a bit, the electronic beats ceasing for the woman's voice to ring out purely. _Let's just stop and think before I lose faith._ A girl tapped me on the arm and I spun away from keeping an eye on Sherlock to look at her. She blinked once before opening her mouth to speak to me. I recognized her as the one who was dancing on the pole. The music was too loud that I didn't hear her. _I walked into the room dripping... in gold. Dripping... dripping. I walked into the room dripping... in gold._ "What?" I asked, leaning closer to the girl to hear what she had to say.

"Name's Abigail. What's yours?" she said loudly into my ear. I wracked my brain for the false name Sherlock had told me to use before we left the flat.

"James," I yelled back. She nodded twice, eyes smiling and grabbed Sherlock's whiskey. She bumped my glass, but caught it before it fell over.

"D'ya mind?" Abigail asked, already taking a small sip. I shook my head, and she grinned and raised her glass. "Cheers, then."

"Cheers to what?" I asked. She answered by pulling a wad of bills out of her shirt and tapping my face with them. I recoiled slightly, and she laughed. "I see." Abigail smiled at me, and handed me my glass. I sighed heavily and took a sip. I hadn't had ale in ages, and I had become used to just drinking Mrs. Hudson's tea. Abigail smirked at me when I made a face, and I briefly wondered what it was about. She and I chatted for what seemed like forever, fifteen minutes, half an hour, an hour, and Sherlock still hadn't come over. By now I had finished three glasses and Abigail and I toasted something new every time. I was starting to get a funny feeling in my stomach, it was warm and it sent little electric shocks to my fingers. I looked over to where Sherlock was interrogating Davies earlier, and I saw that he was just standing there, chatting with some emaciated, mangy, stringy-haired little bitch who was trying to make a move on Sherlock, _my_ Sherlock!

_Can't you want me? Can't you want me? Can't you want me?_

Wait, what? Did I just... Was that... No. It couldn't be. I didn't... I'm not jealous of the girl for making Sherlock smile like that. Not for letting her put her hand on his arm. Not of the fact that she's got his hands on her waist and she's touching his face like that. No, I'm not jealous. Am I?

_Can't you want me? Can't you want me? Can't you want me?_

No, I am jealous. So jealous. But, I'm straight and I'm dating Sarah and Sherlock is my best friend and my flatmate and my co-worker and nothing more. But it was too late. I was already flying across the room, pulling the girl away, pushing her into some random guy who looked he wasn't all there.

_A wave of heads did turn, or so I'm told_.

"John!" Sherlock hissed into my ear. "What on the face of this bloody earth do you think you're doing? I was just trying to get from her the location of the other hideout of Davies'! What are you roughhousing her for?" Sherlock's eyes were angry and they had a fire burning in them. A thought flashed through my mind that I wanted them to be burning with something other than anger, and on a really dumbfuck impulse, I grabbed his face in my hands and I kissed him.

I could feel Sherlock trying to pull away, but suddenly I was stronger than him. He put his hands on my chest and tried to shove me away, but I used all of my Army training to concentrate my mass so that he wouldn't be able to. Eventually he did shove me away, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at me, hate shining in his beautiful eyes.

_My heart broke when I saw you kept your gaze controlled._

"John Hamish Watson! What has gotten into you?" Sherlock yelled at me. His angry gaze was fixed on my face, eyes scanning every inch of it.

_Oh I cannot solve._

"I don't know, Sherlock! I just... I was drinking with a girl and then I saw that- that- that absolute _cunt_ touching you and I just, I don't know!" I sobbed and turned from him.

_Why can't you want me like the other boys do?_

I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I ran away from him. I ran out the door, and had to stop with my hand on the wall to keep from falling as I wept into my jacket's sleeve. I thought I heard him whisper my name, but it's impossible because now he hates me._  
_

_They stare at me while I..._

The last notes of the song floated on the air out to me when I stood up straight, eyes red and puffy, tears cooling on my cheeks and hailed a cab to take me back to the flat.

_Crave you._

That was it, then. Apparently I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective, only one in the world. He created that job, you know. And now I've gone and messed it all up. With Sherlock, with Sarah, with everything. There's no way he'd let me stay at the flat after this. I'd better start packing now because I sure as hell won't be able to even look him in the eyes even if he does let me stay by some miracle.

* * *

**AN: Soooo first songfic, how'd I do? Leave reviews and the like so I know what to work on. Might do more, might not, maybe this has an actual plot, maybe it doesn't. Hope you didn't hate it...**


	2. but I'll keep writing this if I wanna

**"Too Close"**

**Alex Clare**

* * *

So here I was. 221b Baker Street, the shared flat of Sherlock Holmes and me, Doctor John Watson. I managed to slip in past Mrs. Hudson and get up to my bedroom and hastily start packing my things. I had packed nearly everything when I heard the front door slam shut. _Fuck_. He was home. I heard him stomping up the stairs, skipping some, and then I heard our door hit the wall. I heard the sound of his coat falling to the floor, and the unique sound of leather creaking and cushions being compressed as he flopped onto the sofa.

I decided that I should probably apologize for what I had done. "Sherlock?" I called, my voice sounding quiet and meek. "Are you there? Can we talk?" I walked out into the 'study' and leaned against the wall. I kept my eyes fixed on my trainers, not wanting to look at him just yet.

"John," he whispered quietly. "The club was bombed a few minutes after you left. It was Moriarty. I- I was coming to find you, John, but... He has a man. He uses this man to prevent him from getting his hands dirty. He grabbed me, Sebastian Moran did, and he took me to some dark alley and he beat me until Moriarty said stop."

I looked up then, my eyes darting around his face. He had cuts, scrapes, brusies, blood, and grit all over his face. The pale skin covering his beautiful cheekbones was split in at least five places, there was a nasty gash over his left eye, and his nose looked like it could be broken. My inner doctor took over as I rushed to get the first aid kit. I came back and kneeled in front of him, grabbing the antiseptic, gauze, and bandages from the little white box. He bowed his head and closed his eyes as he allowed me to clean his cuts and patch him up. When no more blood was visible and the only signs of the beating were the bandages and the bruises, I stood up and returned the kit back to where it belongs. I came back into the sitting room and sat in the armchair by the mantle.

"Sherlock, I-" I started to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. _Damn, why was it so hard to talk to him?_ Sherlock got off the sofa and crossed the room sit in the other chair. His hands were clasped together, then on his knees, clenched into fists on his thighs, back together again, with tented fingers under his chin, then they were splayed on the arms of the chair, restless. His leg was bouncing up and down, he must have been nervous, but Sherlock Holmes is never nervous.

"John, I- I'm really very sorry. I'm afraid that you'll have to leave London for a while. It's not safe for you here. Moriarty told me that he was going to..." Sherlock looked up at me. His eyes looked, if I didn't know him any better I'd say sad, but this was Sherlock Holmes and he was never sorry, or sad. I stared back into the blue-green of my flatmate's eyes and I saw tears forming in them.

_"Sherlock,"_ I whispered, my voice barely audible as I took three swift steps and crouched in front of him. "I can't just leave you here. Not while Moriarty can do," I gestured to his face and the wounds, "this to you. I won't leave you, Sherlock. Not ever. And I don't expect you to leave me either." His eyes flicked up to mine then, sadder than I had ever seen them. "We need to be together, Sherlock. We're a team, like it or not. You've given me more in the past few months than I could ever return. You've given me friendship when I was alone, you've given me adventure and excitement when I thought I was going to die of boredom, and you've given me something that's going to sound cheesy and cliché, but you've given me hope when I was hopeless. Yet, Sherlock, there's just so much that you deserve that I really can't give you."

Sherlock's eyes closed quickly, he looked angry and then he stood up suddenly and nearly knocked me over in the process. "No, John! You don't understand. I can't get any closer to you, or else your life will be in danger!"

I was frustrated now, too. "And you care about that now?"

"John, no, listen to me! I just can't feel what I do for you, okay? I'm just too close to love you back because I know for a fact that you love me. Don't look at me like that John. It's obvious. Your pulse quickens when you see me, you breathe a little faster, your pupils dilate when you're near me, and you get a slight blush around the base of your neck and in your cheeks. And, another thing I know for a fact is that tonight Moriarty hired a girl to slip you an aphrodisiac to heighten your sexual desire for me because you are in love with me and he is trying to tear us apart before we can figure out his next crime! Don't you see, John?" Sherlock was pacing, getting more and more agitated as he kept listing the things that he knew about my feelings for him. I sat at a chair by the window, fuming as he dissected my emotions and actions bit by little bit and explaining the moment he knew that I was in love with him.

I started mumbling under my breath, irritated at the tall man pacing our flat. "Your pupils dilate, _John_. Your heart rate increases, _John_. I'm an arrogant little shit who can pick you apart and tell where you've been for the past five days by looking at the cuff of your right sleeve, _John_. You were drugged tonight, _John_." Jesus, Mary, and Joseph this man needed to get over himself. "I'm Sherlock Holmes and I'm above emotions and everything because I'm such a genius, _John_. At the end of it all, you're still my best friend, _John_, but-" Wait. _Best friend? He doesn't have _friends._  
_

"I just can't figure out which way is right, and which way is wrong with you, John. How do I even begin to tell you that I need to move on, and that you and I have to go our separate ways? It feels like I'm just too close to you to feel anything for you and I'm sorry. It'd be wrong of me to drag you any further into my hell of a life than I already have." Sherlock had stopped pacing, but was now leaning his head against an arm he had on the wall. The other hand was shoved in his pocket, most likely in a fist. "I've got to be true to myself, John, and my heart is telling me not to let you go, but I really need to be able to help you. So, I'm sorry to say, but I'll be on my way now."

"No!" I cried without thinking, jumped out of my chair and rushed to him. I threw my arms around him, noticing that his chest was shaking a bit. _Was he crying?_ "Sherlock, I can't let you go." I looked up at him and noticed the substantial height difference between us. I realized that the only was I was able to kiss him like I did earlier was by pulling his head down and keeping it there. There were tears slowly making their way down his thin face, and I wiped one away. "Sherlock, I need you. Lestrade needs you. Mrs. Hudson needs you. London needs you. But nobody needs you the way I do. You pulled me from a dark place and showed me the light in the world by showing me the evils and how they can be defeated. You've shown me that brilliance like yours really does exist and even though us ordinary people are so vacant and stupid, you still put up with me and you never ever treat me like you do Anderson. Thank God for that, too," I say, laughing over the lump in my throat I feel forming. Sherlock laughs a little too, a broken sound, but a laugh none the less. "I do love you, Sherlock. Even if I'm not _in love_ with you, I love you for being you. Even if you are an arrogant, annoying, insensitive, and absolutely, mind-bogglingly massive asshat. You're my best friend, Sherlock, and I love you because you're a wonderful, amazing, and intelligent person. So, even if you won't or don't reciprocate my feelings, just know that I do and will always love you."

Sherlock smiled and me, his eyes watery and then his face turned sad. "I'm sorry, John. That was beautiful and all, but you really must go for a few days. You said you had family in Manchester, right? Yes, good. Go there for a while, until this whole thing with Moriarty dies down. And I love you too but in a super-friendly and platonic way, and I consider you to be my first and only real best friend." Sherlock hugged me tightly, then grabbed my shoulders and pushed me away, still holding on to my shoulders. "I'll help you pack and I'll call a cab to take you to Heathrow and we'll get you to Manchester safe and sound. You really must understand that it's for the best if we go our separate ways for now, John. I'll see you in a week."

It was set, then. Sherlock would stay in London, I'd go to Manchester, he'd take down Moriarty, and we'd live our lives knowing that we took down one of the most dangerous people in London, if not the world. If only that's what had happened.


End file.
